


kill me twice

by Vintage (KyberHearts)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, Other, Reader-Insert, domestic life, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyberHearts/pseuds/Vintage
Summary: A collection of ramblings about a peaceful life with the higher vampire known as Regis





	1. King

**Author's Note:**

> self-indulgent fic written for me and that super specific reader insert audience ft. a vampire I haven't even met in the series yet
> 
> heck yeah
> 
> Reader has no set race or profession; the only assumption is that they are not a vampire

A day’s ride from civilization, and shrouded amidst forest greens, Regis finds little use for the mandrake roots he’d so meticulously packed and pickled. The first time you returned home to the humble retreat, your kitchen had been crowded with shredded bits of mandrake roots, sharp knives, and various distilling equipment. All have since been stowed away but you’d been thoroughly confused to confront him, later, to find he was wearing the perfume.

“Regis,” you say, leaning against the kitchen table and drying your hands with a towel. “We’re the only two individuals for miles and miles around. Are you trying to appease the forest animals?”

The vampire pauses mid-sip in his morning tea.

His pungent, though not unpleasant-smelling concoction was supposed to mask his presence amidst beasts and crowds. “Forgive me,” Regis says, with a slight chuckle. “I thought you were rather fond of the wildlife.”

“Do I look like the type who would sit outside in the cold and watch the birds flit past?”

Regis chuckles again, and then moves to set his drink on the table. “Actually, you do,” he says, as he wraps his arms around your waist. “You look like you’d thoroughly enjoy watching birds and gathering herbs and becoming friends with the woodland animals, much like one would in fairytales.”

His fangs gleam as his smile grows even wider at the aghast expression on your face. They don’t strike you with fear; then again, they never really did.

“I have no shortage of fowl,” you say, reaching up and adjusting his collar, “with you around. Crows flock to you like you were their king.”

“Or carrion.”

“Or both.”

“Or both. Yes, I suppose that’s a symptom of my being a vampire.”

The two of you fall silent, admiring and studying each other’s features. In the glow of the cabin’s hearth, he looks alive and well and like any other human. Firelight is certainly favorable to Regis’s complexion, and casts him in a rather regal manner, even dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, like a forester or hunter. You imagine in another life, or perhaps a few decades from now, he’d fit that kind of lifestyle perfectly. Quiet. Humble. Domestic.

“I realize my error now,” Regis says finally. “I pretend to belong to your world. The scent helps mask what I really am.”

“And?”

“And, alas,” he says, as he draws you close and run a hand through your hair, “I cannot hide from you.”


	2. Emiel Regis

Regis emerges from the forest, hands and clothes caked with dirt, an indication he’d been kneeling and digging. He spies you standing by the cottage’s entrance, holding a steaming mug between your frozen fingers. “I daresay,” he says, eyes twinkling. “What a lovely home, but my dear, don’t get you get lonely?”

You laugh. “Lonely? Never.”

“That’s good to hear.” Regis slips off his knapsack and proudly shows its contents to you. Inside are spindly hawthorne branches, deep purple wolfsbane flowers, a handful of crow’s eyes, and of course-- mandrake roots, shriveled and rank with fresh earth.

“And what are these for?”

“Perhaps dabbling in alchemy, if you’d permit me. Otherwise, I hope to study them and their intrinsic properties.”

You shake your head and hide a smile behind your drink. “‘Intrinsic properties’? Keep this up, Emiel Regis, and you’ll charm the pants off every student between here and Oxenfurt Academy.”

The vampire’s flattered; he tilts your chin up with his long fingers and kisses you gently. “Thank you, my dear. I’m only interesting in impressing you.”

“Yes, your vast knowledge about herbs will do just that,” you tease. “Just don’t go tracking mud everywhere.”


	3. Barber

You suddenly sit up in bed and whip your gaze over to Regis, who rests against the headboard. The top of his shirt collar is open and shows the beginning of silver chest hair against pallid skin. He arches an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I thought you were a barber,” you accuse.

“I am. I’m a surgeon, too, when the occasion rises.”

“But you don’t have a reflection. And I would think a mirror is essential to the art of shaving.”

You always compare Regis’s smiles to a candle. Sometimes they shiver in the presence of strong winds, or conflicts, or morals. Otherwise, and more frequently in recent times, they burn bright. When you squint at him and his sideburns, Regis stares back.

And then his smile flickers to life, and he laughs out loud.

“Such insight,” he chuckles, self consciously running a hand over his face. “I don’t need the mirror; my clients do. As long as they’re satisfied with their appearance, they don’t need to know about mine not being visible.”

“Then how do you shave?”

“I usually find myself in prideful company,” Regis murmurs, lolling his head back. His voice fills with something like forced nostalgia. “The wealthy, fashionable sort that wouldn’t hesitate to let me know about a hair out of place. Anyways, a vampire’s appearance changes very gradually. That goes for hair on our heads and the wrinkles on our faces.”

Regis beckons you to come closer. You draw close to his side and tuck your head against the crook of his neck. One of his hands trail against your bare legs, and you shut your eyes. “Forgive me for being so curious,” you mumble. “Vampires are just… so…  _ curious  _ and  _ interesting _ .”

“A long time ago, I would have said you were foolish for thinking such,” Regis says softly, wistfulness shifting to a sort of genuine sadness. “Vampires needn’t mesmerize you. You would walk right into their homes, into their beds.”

“I know your kind is dangerous,” you reply. “But it doesn’t warrant a fear. It doesn’t deserve hostility.”

He sighs. “Ah, see, now I should call you naϊve.”

“Call me what you will, Regis.” You look up at him. “I shall not regret it.”


	4. Old(er)

The dim (but not yet dead) fireplace throws an orange wash over the walls (with barely an inch between portraits and paintings) and bed sheets (crumpled beyond despair).

The scent of soap and rosemary drifts around in the small, cramped setting, coupled with the pleasant crackling embers in the background. Regis lacks his standard mandrake root’s perfume, but he still works in the kitchen and garden, tucking sprigs of rosemary between your clothes. You suppose he enjoys a kind of herbal scent besides the musty cabin’s. 

You’re warm and sleepy and thoroughly buzzed with reassurance. Nothing can harm you here. You could die, but content.

The vampire with streaks of gray in his hair slowly cards his fingers through your locks. He sighs, and it’s like a rumble of thunder, what with your ear pressed against his chest. Regis pulls you closer with his other arm, reaching over and placing a soft kiss against your head. 

“You don’t think I’m too old for you?”

“Silly,” you grumble sleepily. “You’re already four hundred years old. What’s one or more less century?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Regis. Regis?”

“...yes, dear?”

“Does this make me part of your pack?”

“Oh God, I hope not.”

“I have to go make breakfast.”

“Stay for a few more minutes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 15th 2018 Update: [read the rest here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709617/chapters/35489307)


	6. Gentleman

“Why don’t you wear this?”

You glance over. “Too many buttons. I couldn’t possibly manage.”

“Come here.”

When you fail to obey, instead focusing wholly on rearranging the shelves, Regis sneaks an arm around your waist and drags you halfway across the room. You’re still holding  _ The Conjunction of Spheres _ and whack him with the blue tome. “Regis! I don’t have time to play dress-up--”

“I’ll help you. I want to see you wear it.” Your back presses right against his chest, and his breath washes over your neck. The vampire’s usually never so insistent. His hands flit around your hips, seeking permission, until you toss the book on the bed and relent to his wishes.

The shirt is woven from silk, soft and cool, and its dark crimson color carves along your figure. Regis places a kiss against the nape of your neck before he starts working at the numerous, complicated buttons. “What beautiful cloth. How did you acquire this?”

“It was a gift,” you say, shivering despite the warmth of the home.

“A gift? From whom?”

“I don’t remember. It must have been a spiteful gift, though, as it’s a pain in the arse to wear.”

Regis clucks his tongue. “I must disagree. It compliments you beautifully, but it is quite a challenge to the person intended to help,” he says, a twinge of incredulity in his voice. “So allow me to suffer in your stead. There. Finally finished.”

He steps back, then encourages you to turn around.

The way he looks at you-- the way his dark eyes rake over your figure, and linger near the neckline of the silk shirt-- well, you’re almost nervous to know the intention behind his eyes. “Is it comfortable?” he asks hesitantly. You nod. The vampire edges close, and runs a careful hand over your shoulders and arms. One hand trails down the decorative clasps hugging your spine. “You should wear this more often.”

“Only if you’re willing to button me up every time.”

“Gladly, and with honor.”

“What a gentleman. Are you going to release me?”

“Oh, not yet. You look delicious.”

“Regis, you slick bastard!” You thump against his chest, and he laughs in response, fangs gleaming. “I don’t want to dirty the shirt.”

“A fallible excuse; you’re sorting books. That is likely the least-hazardous chore.”

“Well, how am I supposed to focus if you’re going to stare at me the whole time?”

“Take pleasure in knowing that I will be more than thoroughly distracted.”


	7. Forgiven

It’s impossible to reach your retreat by horseback, but upon the insistence and grace of some overtly concerned barkeepers, you would borrow their horses and ride until the thickets were too dense for progress. You would usually be accompanied by such goodfellows, for the horse’s safe return and company.

Conversation switches from business-- “‘Twas a good idea, that gwent competition, but I’ve not enough rooms to house both Redanians and Skelligers.”

\-- to family matters-- “If you’re still looking for someone to warm you bed, I’ve a set of twins workin’ for me. Lad and a lass, so you get your pick.”

\-- to unusual sightings. “Druids don’t care to know or investigate, but the whole town agrees there’s something ominous about that huge flock of ravens in the morn.”

“The what?” you say, turning to look at your companions.

“Ah, were we boring you with all that other talk?”

“No, no,” you reassure quickly, “but I haven’t seen any ravens recently.”

The barkeepers, rivals in all aspects but escorting you through the dark forests, exchange surprised looks. “Really? Perhaps you weren’t near the outskirts like most of the town. Lots of farmers and merchants gather early, and we happen to be there, haggling for spirits. Then all of the sudden, a huge mass of birds rises from one end of the forest and flies to the other. And this happens twice more.”

“Not a huge mass, mind you. Maybe a dozen, or enough to draw some attention”

“Big, though. Didn’t think ravens got that big.”

“Or traveled in groups.”

You think instead,  _ Crows _ . “And the druids--”

You’re cut off suddenly when your pale horse suddenly rears up and throws you unceremoniously to the ground. You don’t have time to yelp when the fall steals your breath and leaves you gasping and dazed. Stars dance in your vision and you blink them away, just as a pair of hands seize your shirt and yank you out of the frantic horse’s hooves.

The barkeeps leap off their steeds and grab at the reins of the wild-eyed horse. One turns to you and yells, “What the fuckin’ hell were you doing, appearing out of nowhere?”

“I’m sorry,” Emiel Regis says, but with his dark eyes focused on you. “I’m so sorry, I had lost my way.”

“Regis?” you wheeze, blinking owlishly at him. He helps you to your feet and picks up your torn satchel and its various contents. His hands flutter nervously, wanting to check you for wounds or to comfort, yet unsure. “I wasn’t expecting you til tomorrow.”

“Oh, so you know the strange fellow,” says one of the barkeeps, trying in vain to calm the horse. The other two steeds were stamping their feet and ready to throw a fit, too.

“Yes, he’s an old friend,” you say hastily. “My friends, as always, thank you for the company. I hope the horse wasn’t too frightened. We will take our leave. Good night.”

You gesture for Regis to follow and he obeys silently. The walk to the retreat is unfettered and would be accessible via horseback, but the vampire’s presence around horses would only further delay and raise eyebrows. “I apologize,” Regis says once he’s sure about their privacy. “I thought about waiting until you were on foot, but the idea of stalking the three of you through the forest was unappetizing.”

“It’s quite all right,” you say, ducking under a thorny branch. “I suppose you’re the murder of crows that so enthralled the town.”

“The murder of-- yes, I suppose so, too.”

“You make such grand entrances, Regis.”

He reaches out and takes your hand. “I know, and you must forgive me for them.”

“I always do.”


	8. Darling

You glance over your shoulder and see Regis making his slow approach. He picks his way across the boulders and rocky terrain, hiking up the only crest where you’d be able to watch the horizon. The vampire finally reaches your side, and now he drapes one of your jackets over your shoulders.

“Thanks.”

You lean against his chest and his arms wind around you in a familiar way.

“Look at that harvest moon,” he whispers in awe. The moon looks like a silver-tarnished coin, easy to pluck out of the twilight and slip into your purse. “And what a lovely sunset.”

“You think so?”

It’s a rare evening for clear skies, and it showcases the gradient of rose pink and dark violet. You’re sure that you’ve seen such a twilight before, but no two sunsets ever seem to be the same. The sensation of seeing them is novel and refreshing each time.

“I know so,” Regis says. “Are you cold? Maybe we should go back inside.”

“Let’s wait until the sun’s gone down.”

It takes a few more minutes before the sun sinks below the horizon and night completely cloaks this side of the world. Faraway lamps begin to spot the towns and cities, and so do the lanterns of travelers who would risk the nighttime in favor for moonlight.

Regis slips his fingers between yours, twisting them affectionately and nervously. His skin feels surprisingly neutral, neither warm nor cold. He notes this too, and he gently chides you, “You must be freezing. Let’s go before you get sick.”

You insist on holding onto him as you two take the winding path back to the retreat. He’s usually so cold to the touch, save for the times he lounges near the fireplace with steeping tea and an encyclopedia. “Wait,” you say before the vampire pulls you indoors and to the inviting glow of the hearth. “Regis, wait.”

You stand on your toes and reach up to kiss him. Regis instinctively follows your lips, his hands reaching up to card through your hair and cradle the small of your back. He seems so hesitant, so careful with the way he holds you or kisses you. You’re not sure if it’s because he thinks grandly about his vampire strength, or if he’s just afraid of loving you.

Before you can stop yourself, you whisper this to him in the space between your lips.

“No,” he tells you. “I don’t want to lose this moment. I want to keep it here--” Regis presses a hand to his chest, over his heart, then over yours-- “and remember it always.”

“Always is an awfully long time, darling.”

“I know.” Regis cups your face and kisses you again, and it feels different now that you know his intentions.

Time slows, and you try and memorize the way he smells and tastes and kisses you like you’re worthy. A shiver goes through you as the wind picks up, and Regis breaks free from the trance. Before he ushers you inside, however, you see crow’s feet gather around his black eyes as he smiles. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me that,” he says at last.

“What?”

“‘Darling’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And I lived so much life, lived so much life_  
>  _I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice, kill me twice_  
>  \--  
> A final chapter, for now.  
> \---  
> *future chapters might be added, but will not be consistent


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you think you've seen the last of me

“Easy, now. You have a spiderweb in your hair. There. It’s gone.”

“My savior.”

“Oh, behave.”

His nimble hands drop and intertwine with yours, his touch cool and comforting in the dark expanse of the night. Regis takes the lead on the forest path, holding low-hanging branches out of the way or making sure you didn’t blindly trip over a shallow ditch-- maybe, looking for any excuse to hold you closer.

The two of you finally break through the brush and thickets, and come across a glittering lake and twin full moons, casting a shiver over the still scene. Your initial guess had been right:  the incoming autumn weather had driven away locals and moonlit lovers, leaving you and Regis the only two individuals for the time being. It was your idea to take the twenty-minute hike to the nearby lake. 

You risk a glance over to Regis, whose black eyes are like silver coins as they reflect the moonlight. He looks over you, blinks, and nervously smiles. Now that the crowded forest no longer keeps you in the darkness, it’s your turn to tug him forward to the lakeshore.

“Not too close to the water! You’ll likely freeze to death.” He uses a fraction of his strength to yank you back from the lake, easily bundling you in his arms with your back against his lean, wiry chest. You laugh breathlessly at his wryness. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

You tilt your chin up. “Is that a good thing?”

“Mmm.” He kisses your forehead.

With some coaxing, you find middle ground and seat yourselves amidst the sand dunes. You toss stones out of the way as Regis unfurls a blanket previously tucked in his coat. It has leftover bits of charred rosemary sprigs and other herbs courtesy of his nonstop work.

“Why a surgeon? Why a barber?”

Regis settles, then reaches out and wraps his arms around you again. “Why not?” he asks. “With all the time in the world, why not try and read and learn and see what each profession offers? A few centuries ago, I decided that I would prefer altruism instead of violence. I’m not a fighter. I chose to learn about medicine, and I serve well. As for being a barber...”

The vampire sets his chin on the top of your head. Though you can’t see his face or expression, you can hear the smile in his silvertongued voice.

“I’ll tell you later.”

Thanks to the thick-fur draped around your shoulders and the way he’s pressed against you, you feel completely safe and warm. A flicker of black and a flitter of wings dart over your heads. You watch the bats until they melt into the night.

“The first time I died,” Regis says, his words like wisps of smoke in the crisp air, “it was a full moon, just like this.”

“What did it feel like?”

“I don’t remember. It was like a half-dream where I could not think or feel. I could only watch.” He’d told you of his mistakes as a youth, though you know you might never understand how he truly feels upon reflection.

Regis did not entertain a lifetime of bloodrinking for violence or boredom, or reasons that would truly prove thoughts of murder. There’s no point to speculating whether or not his victims survived; he’s designed to destroy. You’ve trembled at the sight of his fangs and reflective eyes. Still, however reluctant he must have been to begin killing, the vampire did so anyways. 

“It had been inevitable, a consequence of my own decisions,” Regis murmurs, as if continuing the conversation in your mind. “I drank to impress others, and then it overwhelmed me.”

You warm your hands with your breath. “Your kin convinced you that blood was worth more than your morals.”

“No.” Seeing the way you shiver, Regis covers your hands with his gloved ones, creating heat from friction. It’s a loving, familiar gesture. “No, I convinced myself.”

“You’re better now,” you say softly.

“I know. But I don’t want you to forget.”

The vampire who cradles you has drank, and killed, and died for his bloodlust. You might forget from time to time. But you cannot forgive Regis, nor will he let you. 

“A lot has changed in a few hundred years.” He kisses your hair. “A lot can still change. I’ll refrain from being so somber.”

There must be some fine balance, or just a blind eye, that lets you admire the new soul he’s adopted. You sigh and lean your head back against his shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his hawkish profile, crooked nose, and the silver coins for eyes. 

The amiable sound of the lake lapping at the sandy shores is calming. It is, for a brief moment, quiet. On nights like these, Regis senses how magic entices him to transform into something akin to his closely related, more easily noted relatives. Or, it reminds him of the ease of slipping into obscurity. To dissolve from sight--

“Reigs? I have a question.”

“A grave mistake.”

“Oh, stop teasing for a moment. Do you think we’ll ever run out of things to talk about?”

“No, definitely not. I’d talk about the constellations, or the orbits, or the matters of humans who wake at midnight to study stars.” The vampire is momentarily distracted by the way you turn into the crook of his neck. “There are countless tales of druids and mages, hierophants and flaminicas, and how they fashion secret gardens from their roots. And when all else fails, we would have a riveting conversation about the art of being a surgeon and a barber.”

“Mmm.”

He hears the breath enter and exit your lungs, the sound not unlike an autumn wind teasing the treetops. And your heartbeat is slow and steady, completely unafraid. Regis smiles despite himself. “Your eyes are closing, my dear.”

“No, they’re not,” you reply sleepily. “O vampire, the one who reads and knows much... “

“Yes?”

“How many ways can you kiss me? Or hold me?”

“That, I do not know. Not yet.”

And then, after a promise is whispered under the light of a gentle full moon, it is quiet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also it's about time i remembered how lovely silvertongue sounds


End file.
